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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29673093">One Day in London</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharing_a_room_with_an_open_fire/pseuds/Sharing_a_room_with_an_open_fire'>Sharing_a_room_with_an_open_fire</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow &amp; Related Fandoms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Affection, Angst, Blow Jobs, But they have come a long way, Communication, Explicit Sexual Content, Fiona is the best aunt, Fluff and Humor, Fluffy Ending, Holding Hands, Hugs, Humor, Kissing, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, POV First Person, POV Simon Snow, POV Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Post-Canon, Public Display of Affection, Semi-Public Sex, SnowBaz, They should not quit therapy not for a long long while, Trip to a gallery, they are happy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 00:07:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,848</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29673093</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharing_a_room_with_an_open_fire/pseuds/Sharing_a_room_with_an_open_fire</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“My day is wide open,” I try, wondering if it is fruitless or not. “I can come along to keep you company.”<br/><br/>“No need, finish your book. I’ll be back soon.”<br/><br/>He looks guilty. I don’t want to draw any sudden conclusions but I am not an idiot.<br/><br/>“What a grand idea,” I try keeping any hurt out of my voice. “See you later then, love.”</em>
  <br/>
</p><hr/><p>Baz, ever the detective, thinks that Simon is cheating on him. That might be it. Or it might be something else entirely.<br/><br/><b> Happy Birthday Baz Grimm-Pitch</b>, the first character that understood my pain and made me feel truly seen. 💙</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Fiona Pitch &amp; Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch &amp; Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>147</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gampyre/gifts">Gampyre</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p><strong>Gampyre</strong>, this is for you. 🥺🥺🥺<br/><br/>You've given me three <em>awesome prompts</em> to choose from. One day I hope to write them all for you. 💙🥰💙<br/><br/>For this fic, it's your first prompt I've decided to follow.<br/><br/>I hope you will like it. It's filled with what I like to call ridiculous angst.<br/><br/>But not to worry, it won't last and will have a happy ending, in more ways than one. My trinity for the win.<br/><br/>It's fully written but as you know, I'm a disaster of over-editing. So I am going to do last-minute editing for each chapter.<br/><br/>I solemnly swear not to take longer than <em>one day</em> for each new update. 💙😍🥰<br/><br/>Dear reader, this is as previously stated, <b>ridiculous angst with a happy ending</b>.<br/><br/>Which might just be my favourite emo, and Gampyre was kind enough to ask for it. Hope you will enjoy it. 💙<br/><br/>Many thanks to my amazing friend <b>Blue</b> (<a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/mybluebucketofsnow/pseuds/mybluebucketofsnow">mybluebucketofsnow</a>) for support, help and always going along with whatever my mind conjures up. 💙</p><hr/>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1>BAZ</h1><p>“I thought we could go to this gallery,” Simon says and shows me a pamphlet.</p><p>That is quite suspicious on its own. An actual pamphlet. Where did he get it and why?</p><p>I'm not being paranoid. It's just Simon has been secretive lately. Sending texts while holding the screen away from me. He’s never done that before. We’ve never done that before.</p><p>And it's not as if I tend to peek at his screen. I don't. That is why it took me this long to notice. But I did eventually. </p><p>I put my book down on the table, take the pamphlet from him and examine it. </p><p>“It seems rather interesting,” I say because it does. </p><p>The annual Summer Exhibition at the Royal Academy of Arts. I've wanted to go. However, between uni and Simon acting odd, I've not had the possibility. </p><p>With him shoving the pamphlet in my face, I am too worried about what this is really about.</p><p>“So you want to go?” he asks eagerly. </p><p>Simon Snow never sounds eager when it comes to art. Don’t get me wrong, Simon enjoys art, but not as much as I do. And most definitely not traditional, (which this particular exhibition is currently featuring.)</p><p>“Alright,” I say even though my undead heart starts shuddering into a million pieces already and I wish he would just let me know what is going on.</p><p>I suppose I am still just a love sick vampire, happy with any attention I get from him. </p><p>“Going to a gallery sounds lovely,” I say instead of protecting myself from the pain.</p><p>Shouldn’t therapy has given me better defence tools by now?</p><p>“Great, I need to make a quick errand, I’ll be back soon,” he says, biting his lower lip and blushing.</p><p>“My day is wide open,” I try, wondering if it is fruitless or not. “I can come along to keep you company.”</p><p>“No need, finish your book. I’ll be back soon.”</p><p>He looks guilty. I don’t want to draw any sudden conclusions but I am not an idiot.</p><p>“What a grand idea,” I try keeping any hurt out of my voice. “See you later then, love.”</p><p>“Be back soon.”</p><p>When he gives me a peck on my lips, avoiding meeting my eyes, my stomach tightens into a ball. </p><p>Simon leaves our flat and despite my better judgment I run to the window and hide behind the curtains.</p><p>Not that he’d meet anyone right in front of the building. Or would he? </p><p>There’s no one outside. A few moments later I watch Simon exiting the building. He takes out his mobile. </p><p>I can’t hear him but I can see his face, since he’s standing in profile. </p><p>Simon is grinning before answering. </p><p><em>Oh</em>.</p><p>With me, he was secretive and avoiding my eyes. But with this person, he is smiling and happy.</p><p>There is only <em>one </em>logical explanation for this. </p><p>Simon is having an affair. And he is going to break up with me at the gallery.</p><p>Everything suddenly makes sense. How preoccupied he’s been lately, all the hidden messages he’s sent and received.</p><p>We live together. I will be the one to move out of course.</p><p>I’ve always been the lesser in this relationship. Who cares what Snow and my therapist have told me. </p><p><em>I </em>know the truth. I know how this goes. </p><p>Besides, perhaps it’s better if I move out. Fewer items to remind me of him. </p><p>The teapot we purchased during our first weekend living together. Neither of us had one. </p><p>It was quite an adventure. A small purchase that seemed so significant, only because we’ve done it together. Because it was the first thing we ever bought as a couple.</p><p>The following morning after buying the teapot I woke up at an unholy hour to make Simon breakfast in bed. Usually, he beats me to it, being an early riser still, years after the care homes.</p><p>I have put on an alarm on the softest volume so I’d be the only one to hear with my vampiric hearing.</p><p>Then I made some fried bacon, eggs, sour cherry scones and a pot of tea.</p><p>Our first breakfast with that teapot — a beginning to our happily ever after, is what I thought at the time.</p><p>I can’t help but think about our couch too.</p><p>The couch we bought together because we wanted to make more decisions as a couple. </p><p>It took us ten stores and lots of discussions to settle on the current one. </p><p>I wanted a simple yet elegant design. Simon wanted something that resembled a bean bag because and I quote “that’s what Shep had in college.”</p><p>After endless compromises and bargaining, we ended up with something completely different.</p><p>We found a couch that is perfect for late-night snogging by the telly or a very intense one with both of us in a rather compromised position.</p><p>Needless to say that couch was a winner. </p><p>I would not be able to look at it now without remembering <em>everything</em>. </p><p>How’d Simon held me and told me he loved me for the first time. How his mouth swallowed me whole and I saw stars not only sprinkled over his skin but on the inside of my eyelids as well.</p><p>I shake my head, trying to get the memory out. It won’t do me any good. It will only hurt more.</p><p>I wonder who the other person is. </p><p>I thought… I thought Simon wasn’t attracted to people besides me. He said that once during a couple’s session with a therapist.</p><p>Well, I suppose he met another one. </p><p>I have a password to Simon’s phone. I <em>could </em>check who he spoke to and where he went.</p><p>I won’t do that. He doesn’t deserve that. </p><p>Do I deserve being cheated on? I try not to think about that part, recalling my therapist’s words. </p><p>
  <em>Should I call my therapist? </em>
</p><p>Or perhaps I should start packing instead? To get ahead of everything, I wonder? To make it less painful later. </p><p>Or well, it will still be bloody painful. But at least the moment will not be prolonged by me lingering, packing up my things before leaving.</p><p>I hope Fiona takes me back. </p><p>Will she? </p><p>My aunt and Simon have been rather close lately, bonding.</p><p>She calls him her illegitimate son. Which truthfully is alarming because I will not put it past Fiona to actually try and adopt Simon who is a legal adult, 25 years of age.</p><p>I wouldn’t want to get in between them I suppose. Simon has no family of his own after all.</p><p>Where shall I go then? </p><p>Bunce and Shep might open their home to me. Hopefully. They are expecting their first offspring. I love that unborn child already.</p><p>Crowley, what if they don’t want anything to do with me after the breakup?</p><p>They say people take sides. Is that what will happen?</p><p>Will I never be able to see that baby? I’ve played some Tchaikovsky on my violin for the baby (well Bunce’s stomach), to increase its appreciation for classics. (Bunce is too busy with academia to teach the child anything useful.)</p><p>Will I be banned from their lives forever?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Updating on time is so not my emo. I am more of obsessing over a finished chapter for a few weeks kind of person. But it worked this time. (Small victories.) 💙🤩💙</p><hr/></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1>SIMON</h1><p>I can't help but grin when my mobile rings. I already know who it is. </p><p>“Slow down, Fiona,” I yell into the phone. “What did you say?”</p><p>The sound is awful. She is using the oldest mobile ever, to avoid being recorded by the government. (Which government exactly is unclear.) I am lucky she has one at all and does not force us to call her on the landline, that according to her is far safer. </p><p>
  <em>“Where the bloody hell are you, boyo? I’ve been waiting for an hour!”</em>
</p><p>“Sorry. I’m on my way now,” I answer, trying not to roll my eyes. </p><p>I am not even late. Fiona has mixed up the time I am sure of it. </p><p>
  <em>“Get here quickly. I’m a busy woman.”</em>
</p><p><em>Oh really</em>, I want to ask but don’t because I know better than to antagonise the biggest dragon amongst us.</p><p>Baz and I convinced Fiona to start therapy. It was a slow process for her, but a process nonetheless.</p><p>She’s quit her job for the Coven, saying that killing vampires might not be the right occupation for her after all.</p><p>Now Fiona is jobless, but still has some money saved. So what she’s done since is join my uni. (Did not appropriate that one bit.)</p><p>Furthermore, she now eats all her meals with me and constantly embarrasses me in front of my friends. She's also scaring them away with her lack of social skills, (and I thought I was bad at those). </p><p>They all thought she was my mother and I just happen to favour my father with my both features and completion.</p><p>Fiona even calls me the son she never had. </p><p>“Shouldn’t that be Baz?” I asked her.</p><p>“No. Basil is Natasha’s boy through and through. You on the other hand... If it wasn’t for the lack of a Pitch nose and your overall pastiness, you’d look like my child.”</p><p>No one has ever said that to me in my whole life. I cried that day, right in front of Fiona.</p><p>She hugged me and it was very clear that neither of us truly knew how to hug properly.</p><p>“It was not a compliment, Chosen One,” she said afterwards, sneering at me.</p><p>“I know,” I agreed, knowing what she meant, that we’re both a little broken and lost. </p><p>But it still was a compliment to me. Having someone want me as their child means the world to me. </p><p>Today Fiona was her usual annoying. Which to be honest can be endearing, when experienced in small doses. </p><p>I hurried to meet her. And of course, even though I arrived on time (don't listen to Fiona), the visit took forever and I ended up being late getting home to Baz.</p><p>Why did it take forever one might ask? The answer should be surprising but it really wasn't. Or it wasn't to anyone who has a close relationship with Baz’s aunt and knows her at all. </p><p>Fiona got into an argument with the store owner, stating that one of the rings had a scratch on it.</p><p>It hadn't. Baz’s aunt needs glasses. But you don’t see me suggesting that to her. I don’t have a deathwish. </p><p>I take a deep breath, trying to ease my nerves while she, let's just say, explains, (scaring the jeweller half to death is more accurate though), all about work ethics and customer satisfaction. </p><p>Today is supposed to be perfect. I am going to propose to Baz.</p><p>Fiona and I found the perfect gallery for us to go to. It is beautiful, and the most important part is that the exhibition has been going on for a while, so there probably won't be many people anymore.  </p><p>I take out my phone and call Baz. </p><p><em>“</em>Simon?<em>” </em>he sounds surprised that I called.</p><p>“Baz, can you meet me at the gallery, I am running late.”</p><p><em>“Alright, I can be there in half an hour.”</em> His voice seems strange. But maybe I’m imagining things because I am both nervous and excited.</p><p>“Perfect, I’ll see you there.” I hang up the phone. </p><p>“This is it,” I whisper, my hands slightly shaking.</p><p>Fiona squeezes my hand.</p><p>“Come here you moron,” she pulls me into a tight hug.</p><p>“How am I a moron?” I ask, muffled by her shoulder since I was the one who had to bend double for the hugging. </p><p>“I'm sure by the end of this day you'll prove me right,” Fiona mumbles, petting me on my head. </p><p>“I'm not a child, Fiona. I'm 25 years old.”</p><p>Which to be honest is probably a bit too early for marriage. However, the mages are as old-fashion as one can get. No one will find this odd. </p><p>Besides, I know that I’d like nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with Baz. </p><p>I'm done waiting for things I want, never sure if I deserve them or not. (According to my therapist, I deserve happiness. I try to believe that as much as possible.)</p><p>So I am going to propose to Baz — the man I love — at a gallery, surrounded by art, hoping that will be romantic and not plain weird.</p><p>“Just don't trip while proposing,” Fiona continues, not paying my words any attention, “I don't have time to deal with broken bones.”</p><p>I know I should be offended but there are tears in her eyes and also my nerves settle a bit down thanks to her overbearing remarks.</p><p>“You're as helpful as ever.” I actually mean it and we both smile stupidly at each other when she lets me go.</p><p>Fiona’s genuinely happy even if she’ll never admit to that.</p>
<h1>BAZ</h1><p>I walk in through the grand door of the Royal Academy of Arts. It's beautiful and breathtaking. </p><p>Unfortunately, I am too terrified of the prospect of Simon dumping me to truly appreciate everything it has to offer.</p><p>I spot Simon, waiting for me in a corner, looking rather sheepishly. <em>He's</em> beautiful and breathtaking. And that is something I can appreciate despite the disastrous situation I find myself in.</p><p>My heart contracts uncomfortably at the prospect of losing him forever. </p><p>I watch Simon fidgeting with his sleeve. He’s nervous and is most definitely breaking up with me today. I am sure of it now. Everything points in that direction.</p><p>Why else is he taking me to an art exhibition without stopping by at <em>our </em>home first?</p><p>He knows very well that I would never make a scene amongst art or other people. </p><p>Or maybe the old me wouldn’t. I’ve changed after all. </p>
<h1>SIMON</h1><p>“Hi,” I wave at Baz when I see him — so beautiful in a blue shirt, with small daisies on it and a pair of rather snug jeans. (The kind that makes me want to tear them off with my teeth.)</p><p>“Hi,” he answers but something us clearly off.</p><p>His face is tense and he doesn’t kiss me like he usually does. I offer him my hand and he looks at me for a few seconds before taking it in his.</p><p>He’s so cold. And I don’t mean in the way he is cold physically. I keep him warm. </p><p>No, Baz seems to be distant and pulling away. </p><p>Maybe this was a bad idea after all. </p><p>Maybe he doesn’t love me without my magic just like I feared. My therapist was clearly wrong and Baz has changed his mind about me.</p><p>I swallow, trying to think of what to do next. </p><p>Well, proposing might be out of the question then. </p><p>Should we talk or just enjoy the exhibition? </p><p>“Shall we?” he asks and even his voice has an icy edge to it.</p><p>“Yeah… yeah. W-we can start at that corner… I mean— That’s where they said to start,” I am stammering, unsure of what to do or to say.</p><p>“Splendid, lead the way.” Baz doesn’t look happy.</p><p>“Yeah, okay.”</p><p>I have no idea what to do and we just end up walking aimlessly around the gallery for about an hour.</p><p>Baz is pointedly not looking at me. Or maybe he’s too busy admiring the art. I can’t be sure.</p><p><em>Should </em>I say something? </p><p>His hand is still in mine. At least there’s that.</p><p>We walk past a statue and Baz starts walking around, behind it. Then stops abruptly.</p><p>“Just tell me and be done with it,” he says suddenly, hardly looking in my eyes.</p><p>“What?” I look at him, all of him. </p><p>He’s clutching his phone with his other hand, as if that was his lifeline, his knuckles look tense and greyer than ever.</p><p>“Oh, please. Do you think that I am going to do this <em>for </em>you?” he spits out sarcastically. “We’ve been together for six years, Simon Snow.”</p><p>“I know that,” I bite back, furrowing my brow.</p>
<h1>BAZ</h1><p>“I’ve spent the last four years in therapy. So if you think that I won’t make a scene, you are gravely mistaken,” I declare quietly but far from calmly. </p><p>The thing is my therapist didn’t actually teach me <em>how</em> to make a scene. </p><p>Regardless, she did help me to realize that my feelings are important too. That I’m my own person and deserve happiness. (I am still learning that last part.) </p><p>She also helped me to come to a point where I’m allowed to ask for things, to wish for things without remorse or guilt. </p><p>“What?” Simon looks genuinely taken aback, his hand sliding away from mine.</p><p>“I’ve learned to express my feelings in a constructive manner,” I sneer. “Because I matter too.”</p><p>It is possible that the last fraction of whatever useful knowledge I’ve gained over the last four years is now flying out of my head completely. I may have regressed to my old ways, (if the sneer on my lips is any indication.)</p><p>Not that it’ll change the outcome of this conversation.</p><p>It was too good to be true, him loving me, was it? I let myself believe in this fairy tale. When in reality he got tired of me. </p><p>My biggest happiness is Simon holding my hand. I already miss it — his hand in mine. Because I am needy and he despises that. And now he's going to tell me so.</p><p><br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Another chapter updated on time. Baz’s birthday is giving me the inner strength to stop editing.</p><hr/></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<h1>SIMON</h1>
<p>Of course. I should have known better. Baz spent four years in therapy and now he knows he’s too good for me. </p><p>“You—  Baz—  I—”</p><p><em>Don’t leave me</em> is what I want to say or to ask him why. Everything was fine. We were fine.</p><p>At least I thought we were. Have I misunderstood? </p><p>“We’ve— ” I can’t get a word out, stammering and blistering. Despite my own four years in therapy where I learned how to ask for what I want, not to be afraid of wanting, I am now back to my old flustered state.</p><p>Why is therapy not working when I need it the most, when I am this emotional? They should warn you about it. (I think the therapist did that though.)</p><p>All I want is to hold Baz’s hand. I accidentally dropped it when he was speaking, because he took me by surprise.</p><p>If I have to be honest, I always want to do that — hold his hand. His cool skin against mine is what keeps my heart warm every day. </p><p>I know there were times I couldn't do that. But now that I can, I never want to stop. </p><p>Except Baz doesn’t want that from me anymore.</p><p>“I don’t know what to say,” I finally confess, the words come crushing in one go. </p><p>My eyes drop to the floor and I'm suddenly scared that I’ll make it worse somehow. </p><p><em>Can</em> it get worse? Is Baz breaking up with me? </p><p>For a brief moment, I am worried my wings will pop out right in the middle of the gallery from all the stress. Although I am not sure that’s how it works. Baz has spelled them perfectly this morning.</p>
<h1>BAZ</h1>
<p>“Then let me speak,” I say through the tears welling in my eyes.</p><p>Slowly, I take a deep, hopefully, reassuring breath. </p><p>Then I produce my phone from the back pocket of my jeans for moral support. I can’t have my therapist with me right now. But after my life has fallen apart right in front of my eyes, might be a good time to call her.</p><p>
  <em>Alright, you can do this. </em>
</p><p>I will let Simon know how I feel, how deeply he’s hurt me. I think I deserve that much.</p>
<h1>SIMON</h1>
<p>Baz clears his throat and I look up. I think there might be tears in his eyes. What is happening? Why is he crying?</p><p>“Simon, I thought, <em>hoped</em>, that you’d think about what we have—  Well at the very least you would tell me to my eyes instead of sneaking around.”</p><p>I am more confused than ever. What is this? Is Baz breaking up with me or does he know I was going to propose? </p><p>And why is he crying?</p><p>What can I do to make it better? </p><p>I reach for his hand and Baz takes it hesitantly. But takes it nonetheless.</p><p>That’s still something. I hold his hand tight, probably too tight. I hope he doesn’t mind.</p><p>“Baz, I don’t know what is going on exactly.”</p><p>He looks at our intertwined hands and then back at me, and seems just as bewildered as me.</p><p>“What do you mean?” His voice is softer than before, the icy edge is gone.</p><p>“Are you breaking up with me? Or do you know about the proposal?” </p><p>I am not sure how I find the right words to say all of this. But I do. Thank snakes for that. </p><p>“What proposal?” His eyes widen in genuine surprise.</p><p>“I want to marry you,” I blurt out. “But now I am not sure that’s what <em>you </em>want.”</p><p>“W-what?” Baz whispers, dropping his phone, tears spilling over his cheeks. My own eyes sting and I might start crying any time.</p><p>Maybe he didn't know. He looks so shocked, and also uncertain and worried.</p><p>Is it possible that Baz wasn't planning on breaking up with me after all?</p><p>His gaze on me doesn't waver but he's still not saying anything. I step closer and reach with my free hand for his cheek, wiping his tears away.</p><p>“I—  Well. I want to be your husband... Since the boyfriend thing worked out pretty good,” I fumble with my words and curse myself.</p><p>Fucking hell, that’s not how my proposal was supposed to go. I had a speech planned and it was a good one too. (Took me months to write it.)</p><p>“<em>Simon</em>,” he murmurs, his eyelashes flutter, more tears linger on them.</p><p>My hand is still on his cheek. We seem to realize that at the same time. Baz turns his face, taking a hold of my hand with his and kisses my palm. </p><p>I'm crying too now. We both are. </p><p>He then presses himself closer into me, and we end up in a hug at the oddest angle ever. </p><p>We stay like this — enveloped in each other — for what feels like forever. My heart rate goes down, my tears dry up. </p><p>As time goes, I start thinking more clearly. </p><p>“What was that all about?” I ask Baz since he was making absolutely no sense earlier. </p><p>“I thought… I thought you wanted to break up,” his voice is small and low, “because you were having an affair.”</p><p>“You thought what?!” I practically yell in his ear and pull away just a bit so I can look into his eyes. “Baz… First of all, I love you and would never betray your trust like that. And even if you could somehow miss all that, you know I've only ever been attracted to you.”</p><p>“I know and I'm sorry, Simon. I—” A blush spreads on his grey cheeks and the tips of his ears. “I've overreacted since you've been so secretive lately... <em>texting</em>.” </p><p>I don't want Baz to feel embarrassed and so I try my hardest not to roll my eyes at him. Instead, I reach up and kiss his other cheek.</p><p>“To Fiona, because she helped me find the rings,” I explain, wondering how Baz, who's so smart can come to that conclusion.</p><p>The fact that he couldn't find a better explanation than me cheating on him really says a lot about how insecure he is (probably not less than me, maybe even more).</p><p>“Well, yes, I understand that now,” he whispers and smiles shyly; then leans in and ghost his lips over my temple.</p><p>It feels good and reassuring, calming my nerves. </p><p>“And here I thought I was the most paranoid and insecure person in our relationship,” I state as a joke although it's true. </p><p>I spent years thinking Baz will leave me for someone better, because I'm magicless and an orphan. </p><p>Baz never cared about that though. He cares about me for who I am. Not who I was. (Usually, I remember that. But sometimes I still doubt it and struggle to believe that I'm worth love, worth having Baz in my life.)</p><p>“What can I say, I’ve bested you there too,” Baz chuckles through another wave of tears. </p><p>“You are insufferable,” I smile, pressing my face into him, caressing his hand with mine.</p><p>“We should not quit therapy anytime soon,” I add as an afterthought. “I don’t think we are ready to deal with things on our own yet.”</p><p>“That my love is an understatement of a century,” he answers, and I can’t help but laugh.</p><p>I love him.</p><p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Dear reader, chapter four is out! 🤩<br/><br/>I almost didn't make it with the deadline. Today of all days IRL took way too much time.<br/><br/>Loveliest Gampyre, writing for you was a blast. Hope you will enjoy the final chapter. 💙</p><hr/></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<h1>BAZ</h1><p>“You <em>know</em> I love you,” Simon whispers into my ear, and kisses my neck, making my undead heart skip a beat. “Don’t you?”</p><p>“I do…” I murmur into his hair, somewhat disoriented by his lips on me, to think properly. “It’s just—”</p><p>“Therapy doesn't always work in real-life situations, does it?” he chuckles, and starts trailing kissing across my neck. My stomach drops to the floor from how good it feels. </p><p>“Exactly.” </p><p>“You still haven't answered my question,” he says, followed by another kiss, taking my breath away (and apparently brain too).</p><p>“What…was the question?” After we got engaged I lost the capacity of thinking about anything else. </p><p><em>Engaged.</em> Aleister Crowley, I never thought I’d live to see the day. </p><p>Simon looks into my eyes and I feel my cheeks burn under the intensity of his gaze. </p><p>“Will you marry me, Baz?” Simon asks, his hand on mine. “Or was this your elaborate plan to get rid of me?”</p><p>“I thought we already got engaged,” I confess and am not trying to sound hesitant. I am simply overwhelmed in the best possible way. “Simon… Of course I will marry you. I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”</p><p>His eyes lit up, he smiles and cups my cheek. Simon moves his hand over my jaw, then my chin before he leans in and kisses my mouth. </p><p>When we pull apart, he relocates his lips to my neck again.</p><p>“I want to spend the rest of my life with you too,” he murmurs.</p><p>At his words my stomach fills with butterflies and my undead heart beats with happiness. </p><p>I am just about to ask about the rings. Simon said he had rings. But as he starts sucking on a spot my eyes practically glaze over with pleasure.  </p><p>Who would have thought I’d get engaged to Simon in the middle of the Royal Academy of Arts. And that I’d be getting a love bite from him.</p><p>Oh, wait. We are in <em>public</em>. Somehow between my tears and an engagement, I’ve quite forgotten where we are.</p><p>Granted, we are currently standing behind one of the statues. But people could still see us. </p><p>I personally couldn't care less. There aren't that many people here anyway. It's practically deserted.</p><p>Nonetheless, I want to make sure Simon is comfortable.</p><p>“<em>Crowley</em>. Let me spell us invisible first.”</p><p>“Yeah, hurry up.” The desperation in his voice is infuriatingly attractive. </p><p>I quickly produce my wand out of my sleeve and cast, <em><strong>“There’s nothing to see here!”</strong></em></p><p>It’s a wonder I could speak properly, my breath is shaky as it is.</p><p>“Finally,” he says, his lips already back on me.</p><p>“Oh...” I moan, not capable of coherent speech anymore.</p><p>Simon’s hand wanders across my chest, and then down to my derrière. </p><p>I practically squeak when he gropes me.  </p><p>“Simon… We're in public,” I remind him in case he might have forgotten the way I did. </p><p>“Do you care?” His voice is hoarse and lovely.</p><p>“No,” I admit. Not for my own benefit, that is.</p><p>Simon however… Well, there was a time when he wouldn't hold my hand in public, worried about what people might think. </p><p>Not that anyone can see as right this moment. Still, it is a matter of principle, I don’t want Simon to regret this.</p><p>He shifts his lips from my neck to my collarbone, kissing, making me go weak at the knees.</p><p>“Just enjoy it then,” he says and I wonder when he's gotten this bold. </p><p>You won’t see me complain though. I love the sensation of Simon touching me. </p><p>He starts grinding on me and I move my hand across his shoulders, up to his back and pull him closer, kissing any exposed skin I can find.</p><p>“Baz,” he moans and whispers, “I want to taste all of you…right now.”</p><p>If I said that those words didn't go straight to my cock, I’d be a liar. </p><p>Nevertheless, I don't wish for him to regret it later. We've never done anything like that before. </p><p>“Are you sure about it?” I ask part aroused, part hesitating.</p><p>“I am. I want to. Unless <em>you're</em> uncomfortable?”</p><p>“Oh I don't mind the scenery,” I answer and feel the blood going to my cheeks. Great snakes, I'm a grown up adult, I should not be blushing like this. “In fact I think it's rather hot.”</p><p>“Yeah, so do I.”</p><p>When his hands reach the waistband of my jeans and he starts unbuttoning my flies, I practically squeak.</p><p>Simon growls into my ear and sinks to his knees.</p><p>“<em>Fuck</em>,” is all I am capable to say, <em>groan </em>really.</p><p>My body is trembling from the anticipation of Simon’s mouth on me. </p><p>It's well...been a while. I've spent weeks, overworked with uni and worried he’s pulling away. This is the first time we've been intimate in this manner in quite some time.</p><p>Simon takes a hold of my shaft, looking eager and aroused. His pupils are blown vide, eyes dark with lust.</p><p>I love watching him like that. Knowing that I am the one to give him pleasure, despite the fact that I am not even doing anything at the moment (except for gasping and moaning).</p><p>“You taste delicious,” he murmurs while leaving kisses along my cock. </p><p>“Oh Simon,” I gasp and wind my hand in his hair, pulling just a tad, the way I know he loves.</p><p>He swipes his tongue over my slit and sucks on the head. I whimper from the pleasure of it all —  of Simon — my fiancé. </p><p>The deeper he goes the more ragged is my breathing getting. Eventually I start moaning his name on repeat, as a curse or a prayer, or possibly both. </p><p>When my head falls back, my eyes settle on a painting of the most mesmerising sunrise. It reminds me of Simon — warm and breathtaking.  </p><p>I never thought I would ever find myself in a position of looking at one of the most beautiful paintings and have the most amazing experience in my life at the same time. </p><p>This piece of art belongs to the painter’s earlier works. A bit unrefined, the paint strokes uncertain at times. Yet, I believe it to be the most significant painting I’ve ever seen.</p><p>My eyes wander back to Simon and I take him all in. He is the most beautiful man I’ve ever met. I’m in love with him and I always will be. </p><p>And right this moment, my future husband is giving me a blowjob. It looks unbelievably hot. A pleasant shiver goes down my spine and I am fairly certain, life can’t be better than this.</p>
<h1>SIMON</h1>
<p>A familiar pull of desire mixed with how Baz tastes is taking over all of my senses. </p><p>“Yes, Simon,” he keeps moaning my name softly and even that — my name on his lips — is capable of pulling me over the edge.</p><p>I swallow him whole, while holding his thighs firmly and feel him shiver under my hands.</p><p>“Oh…” Baz breathes out.</p><p>I am moving my mouth back and forth over his cock, coaxing more moans and whimpers from Baz, aching for him here with me by the edge of pleasure.</p><p>He’s so expressive I can’t look away. His grey cheeks are flushes, his eyelashes flutter. Baz is a vision of perfection.</p><p>A moment later I start swirling my tongue over his head and listen to how beautifully he gasps, how much he responds to everything I do.</p><p>“Yes,” his voice goes low and ragged.</p><p>His lips are parted. Baz is panting, wanting me. It feels extraordinary.</p><p>I was terrified of my own desires, never of his. Baz wanting me only ever scared me when I thought I could never measure up to whatever he expected. </p><p>It turns out, he didn't have any expectations. </p><p>Baz just wants me, as I want him. Nothing else. </p><p>The day we figured that out (or well our therapist helped us with that part) it got better. I didn't feel suffocating or pushy anymore. </p><p>I didn't feel as though I couldn't be kissed by Baz. I wanted him to do it. To kiss me and to show me he loves me. Because that's what our kisses are about, showing love, not saying goodbye. </p><p>Kissing Baz is still my favourite pastime. It's so much better than fighting. (We always kiss after a fight and if that's how all our fights will end, I am going to die a happy man.)</p><p>I tighten my grip on his thigh and suck him deeply, enjoying him in full. He loves this too and I cannot get enough of how much I get turned on by watching Baz in ecstasy. How gorgeous he is when aroused. </p><p>He’s always beautiful. But this is different — only for me.</p><p>I am pulling him closer, feeling his body, every breath he takes, the slight shiver when I make him feel good. </p><p>Like now, Baz is trembling from excitement and even though I wish I could prolong his pleasure as long as possible, the stone floor of the gallery isn’t the most comfortable place for my knees. </p><p>I take him in, all of him, and swallow around his cock. I know he likes it, the friction, the sensation. </p><p>“Y-es…” his words are getting extremely incoherent.</p><p>I pull off his cock for a little bit, replacing my mouth with my hand, stroking him, and licking his clit.</p><p>“I want you to fill me with your come, darling,” I let out without blinking, (although I do blush).</p><p>“Fuck, Simon,” he grunts, tagging on my curls and I swallow him again, sucking him deeper.</p><p>It takes only a few more moments before Baz is arching his back, his eyelids close as he spills into my mouth.</p><p>When he comes down, I slide my mouth out of him and help him to button up his flies.</p><p>“Alright?” I ask, cupping his cheek and kissing him even though I am still panting.</p><p>Baz kisses me back, pulling me closer to him, holding on to my shoulders with both his hands. </p><p><em>Like old times</em>, I think. </p><p>We kiss until we’re both breathless. Which coincidentally doesn’t take long considering we’ve been going at it for a while now. </p><p>“I love you,” he says when our lips part.</p><p>He looks gorgeous dishevelled just after an orgasm.</p><p>“And I love you,” I answer, smiling. “Want to see the rings?”</p><p>“Yes,” Baz murmurs, a deeper blush colouring his grey cheeks.</p><p>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading. 💙</p></blockquote></div></div>
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